


My Fair Miqo'te

by abberwocky



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Awkward Tension, Ballroom Dancing, Bets & Wagers, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward, Final Fantasy XIV: Heavensward Spoilers, Gen, Miqo'te Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), My Fair Lady (1964) References, Slice of Life, Social blunders, Tropes
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-02-24
Updated: 2020-10-01
Packaged: 2021-02-28 02:42:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,600
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22886500
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/abberwocky/pseuds/abberwocky
Summary: The Warrior of Light is not accustomed to Ishgardian social etiquette; with a grand ball on the horizon, Alphinaud would see to that.
Comments: 2
Kudos: 23





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hi! This is a little idea that came to me that I'd gradually like to develop - hope you enjoy! I'll be adding more tags etc as I go along.
> 
> Also, I'm putting some background info at the end of this chapter, however it does contain Heavensward spoilers on the off chance a newer player stops by :)

Though she had just about grown accustomed to being a ward of House Fortemps, a summons from Lord Edmont still managed to fill Alarys with dread. This time, she couldn’t think of what she might have done to displease the Holy See – lately there had been no trials by combat, no heresy and hopefully no social faux pas. Much to her relief, Alphinaud and Tataru seemed to share her confusion. Finally, Lord Edmont joined them and they held their collective breath.

“You wished to speak with us, my lord?” Alphinaud, true to nature, was the first to give a voice.

“Yes. I thought I should give you fair warning,” he began. “In a fortnight’s time, the annual Ball of the Four Houses shall take place.”

“Oh! I’ve heard of that!” Tataru piped up, raising her hand as if in a lesson. “Each of the four high houses takes turns to host, right?”

“Correct, Mistress Tataru. And this year, it is the turn of House Fortemps.”

“Forgive me, my lord,” Alphinaud interjected, “but with the rising Dravanian threat, is it wise to allow such an event to take place?” The Count closed his eyes in contemplation.

“I understand your concerns, Master Alphinaud, and I am inclined to agree with you to an extent. However, it is one of our oldest traditions, and in these times of uncertainty, tradition would serve to unite us further.”

“I see.” The boy adopted a pensive stance and mulled over his words. “Hmm, yes. I suppose the ball _would_ help bolster the reputation of House Fortemps, given our… recent missteps.”

“Which brings me to my next point,” Edmont sighed. Alarys winced – here it was. “This is a double-edged sword, if truth be told. Some would be suspicious of your absence, while others would be offended by your presence.” The three took a step back in shock.  
“I would not force you to attend this ball, nor would I ask you to stay away. The choice is entirely yours, and I shall support your decision regardless. Pray, take some time to think. I shall be in my study awaiting your answer.”

And with that, the Count bowed courteously and left the reception chamber, his manservant following closely. As soon as the door closed, Alarys let out a shaky sigh. Though she was near enough clueless about Hydaelyn’s intentions for her, she was fairly certain they didn’t involve Ishgardian balls and social graces.

“Well then, I think the choice is obvious,” Alphinaud mused. “We’re going.”

“What!?” Alarys blurted out, nearly throwing herself off-balance.

“I agree,” Tataru nodded, and it took all the Miqo’te’s strength not to fall to her knees.

“But… why? You heard what Lord Edmont said: our presence would only offend the guests.”

“ _Some_ , not all,” Alphinaud corrected. “We owe it to Lord Edmont to allay any remaining suspicions that we have brought upon House Fortemps. I ask you: which would appear more suspicious? The wards of House Fortemps making an effort to socialise with Ishgard’s people, or those wards keeping their distance and not wishing to mix with others?”

“…Alphinaud. What you just said”-

-“is exactly how the Ishgardians behave towards the rest of Eorzea, yes. Believe me, I can all but touch the irony with mine own hands. But if we are ever to gain their trust, we must play at their game.”

“Alphinaud is right, Alarys,” Tataru continued. “If we want to learn the inner workings of this place, trust is key. And this is the perfect opportunity to build it.”

“I know you’re both right,” she conceded, flopping onto the chaise longue. “We’ve caused Lord Edmont more than enough trouble and need to make it up to him. I just… I don’t think I’m cut out for this.”

“No, you have been prone to your fair share of social blunders of late…” Alphinaud mused.

“Hey! You weren’t supposed to agree!” Her tail stood on end in indignation.

“Well," Tataru began, "you brought a chocobo into the Tribunal after defending us, the alleged heretics…”

“That was Haurchefant!”

“…you were scolded by a lord of House Durendaire for sitting on their manor wall…”

“It looked comfy and I was tired!”

“…oh, and let’s not forget the time you dropped your coinpurse in the Crozier and knocked over a crate of popotos while trying to pick up your gil.”

“I…!” She raised her pointed finger, but could muster no defence. Her ears and shoulders drooped. “I’m really not cut out for this, am I?”

“Not now, perhaps. But with a bit of teaching, I think you could be.” A determined glint coursed through Alphinaud’s eyes – one that both inspired and terrified the Warrior of Light. “What say you, Tataru? Reckon I can turn Alarys into an Ishgardian Lady in two weeks?” The Lalafell smiled wryly.

“One thousand gil says you can’t.”

“Hey!”

“ _Two_ thousand gil says I _can_!”

“I’m right here!”

“Done,” the pair said in unison. They shook hands once and headed for the door.

“Excellent,” Alphinaud remarked nonchalantly. “I look forward to my winnings. I shall inform Lord Edmont of our intentions.”

“Wonderful. I’m off to look for some fabric for my dress, which _my_ winnings shall pay for!” Tataru veritably skipped out of the chamber, humming a tune to herself.

The doors closed once more, leaving Alarys in a bewildered and, quite frankly, offended silence. Slowly, dejectedly, she slid downwards, until she was lying flat on her face, and let out a feeble groan. The Warrior of Light’s demise would not be at the hands of the Ascians. Nay, it would be at the hands of an Elezen boy and a Lalafellin receptionist.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Alphinaud's lessons are not going as well as planned, and tensions are starting to rise.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am acutely aware of how messy this chapter is in terms of flow - I am tired bean. I will revisit it at some point but for now I just wanted to get it out.

“Now, once again, with _feeling_!” The only thing Alarys was feeling was the rapidly increasing urge to punch Alphinaud. She sighed and braced herself as his finger moved in time to his words.  
“How _kind_ of you to come.”

“How kind of you to come…”

“No, no, no, _NO!_ ” The Elezen boy all but tore his hair out. “ _Enunciate_ , Alarys! Listen to my intonation!”

“Urgh! I’m saying the words, aren’t I? Why the bloody hells does it matter _how_ I say them!?”

“Because it-!” He rubbed his temples and took a measured breath. “Look, the whys and the wherefores don’t matter. Just… trust me. This will help to bolster our reputation.”

“For your sake, Alphinaud, it better had,” Alarys grumbled.

Just then, a light knock sounded at the door. Relief washed over her as Haurchefant appeared, beaming as always.

“Ah, Lord Haurchefant!” Alphinaud addressed him heartily, then whispered under his breath: “Like this”-

“How _kind_ of you to come!” Alarys chirped, each word inflected to perfection and crowned with a demure curtsey. Just in front of her, Alphinaud’s mouth gaped like that of a fish.

“I- Wha-? You just did it perfectly!” he stammered. “How did you”-?

“I was mocking _you_ , of course.” He paused, finger pointed in midair.

“…I resent that. But if mocking me is what it takes, so be it.”

“Sorry, am I missing something here?” Haurchefant chortled.

“Ah! My lord!” Alphinaud pivoted to him and bowed deeply. “Pray forgive my momentary distraction. I am _trying_ to teach Alarys some etiquette in preparation for the upcoming ball, that the other high houses might regard us with less… disdain.”

“Hah! Well I hardly think that is necessary,” the young lord scoffed. “Just be your wonderful self and they are bound to love you, Alarys!”

The Warrior of Light folded her arms in triumph.

“ _See?_ Thank you, Haurchefant.”

“ _Lord_ Haurchefant!” Alphinaud snapped.

“Oh, I really don’t”- The lord was swiftly cut off.

“And need I remind you that so far you have only cast suspicion upon House Fortemps from the moment we arrived in Ishgard?”

“What, and saying words in a certain way is going to fix that, is it?” Alarys barked. “Don’t you see? It doesn’t matter what I do or say; I will _never_ fit in here!”

“So that’s it? You’re giving up?”

“Of course I am! I’d rather fight the Ultima Weapon again than go to this swiving ball!”

“Fine! Don’t go! See if I care.”

With the curtest of bows to Haurchefant, Alphinaud stormed out of the drawing room, slamming the door shut behind him. Bitter tears began to well. She rubbed at them coarsely, threw herself on the chaise longue and buried her head in her hands. Some moments later, she felt the weight of Haurchefant sitting next to her.

“Am I truly such an embarrassment?” she mumbled, holding back a sob.

“Oh, come now, do not say such things about yourself.” Alarys looked up to see him smiling warmly. “I meant what I said. Be not afraid to show your true self, and in time they will come to admire you just as I do. As my father and brothers do. As Ser Aymeric does.”

“Thank you,” she sniffed, her heart fluttering. “I know Alphinaud has good intentions – I do – but I don’t think he understands just how foreign all of this is to me. I grew up in the forest, for Menphina’s sake! I don’t know the first thing about attending a ball.”

“Well, if you ask me, there really isn’t all that much to it. I go to balls to eat, drink, and most importantly, _dance_.”

At this point, Alarys didn’t know whether to laugh or cry.

“Oh hells, I can’t even bloody dance,” she sighed in defeat.

“Well then,” he rose to his feet and extended a hand, “forget all this etiquette nonsense. You simply _cannot_ enjoy a ball if you do not dance!”

“But I’m not”-

“Now, now. I’ll hear none of that. I shall teach you to dance and, Fury as my witness, you _shall_ go to the ball!”

Unable to fight back her smile, Alarys allowed herself to be taken by the hand and into the centre of the room. Like a child at Starlight, Haurchefant wound up a small music box by the fireplace, chattering excitedly about the different types of dance he loved so dearly.

“…but those I reckon you’ll pick up rather easily. Nay, I shall teach you my favourite dance – the waltz.”

“The what now?”

“Why, ‘tis only the most traditional and romantic Ishgardian dance!”

“…great.” She grimaced at the mere concept. “And if I can’t master this?”

“Then we shall stumble and laugh and have fun regardless.”

His earnest smile put her heart at ease, and the pair set to work.


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As if a ball wasn't enough, the Warrior of Light must now contend with the social graces of Ishgardian fine dining.

She had just about come to terms with attending a ball. Smiling and nodding, exchanging the odd greeting, maybe having a dance with Haurchefant - _that_ she was ready for. A banquet, on the other hand…

_“Oh, ‘tis quite ordinary to hold a small banquet before the majority of guests arrive,”_ Alphinaud had said nonchalantly, still bitter from their argument. _“It’ll be just like dining with Lord Edmont, but with a few more guests.”_

If this was ‘just like dining with Lord Edmont’, then Alarys’ mother was a chocobo. She cursed the Twelve for… well, just about everything to do with this banquet. Sat in a gown that was far too nice for dining in, faced with a veritable army of knives and forks of ascending size, in the company of the heads of the other three High Houses - oh, _and_ Ser Aymeric himself - Alarys had never felt more out of place. Indeed, she felt little comfort having Alphinaud next to her - he was already charming the lords with his eloquent conversation. For a mercy, Haurchefant sat on her other side.

“Ah, nothing like a hearty meal before a ball. Careful not to eat too much, though, my friend,” he added. “You don’t want to dance on an overly full stomach.”

“Aha, mm.”

Noises of agreement were as much as she could muster right now - any appetite had given way to sheer dread. In her peripheral, she felt a pair of eyes upon her. Alarys dared to glance down the table and was met by none other than the Lord Commander’s icy gaze. No sooner had she locked eyes with him than she looked down into her lap, her face inexplicably burning.

Suddenly, a new presence behind her made her flinch; an excited chatter filled the room as servants materialised around the guests and placed a dish before each one. Dinner, apparently, was served. Her nose was assaulted with a myriad of scents and Alarys remembered just how hungry she was.

When she looked down, however, she was met with… a broth? It certainly _looked_ like a broth, but the vessel it had been served in was far too shallow to sup from. Panic setting in, Alarys glanced frantically at the plethora of cutlery either side of the broth. Sizes be damned - these were all for solid foods! Now desperate, she looked around the table for inspiration, but everyone seemed far too engaged in conversation to even pay mind to their meal.

“Urgh, sod this,” she muttered.

Alarys cupped her hands around the base of the bowl, brought it to her lips and tilted it carefully. Almost straight away her ears pricked up at the blend of wonderful flavours upon her tastebuds. The Miqo’te chirped in delight and took some more generous gulps. From the moment she had set foot in Ishgard she had eaten well, but _this_ was even better! She paused for breath with a satisfied sigh… and all of a sudden became acutely aware of the silence that had befallen the room.

“Um, Alarys?” She heard Tataru pipe up shrilly

_“What_ are you _doing!?”_ Alphinaud hissed beside her. 

Alarys looked around; all the eyes in the room were upon the Warrior of Light, and once again, for all the wrong reasons. She set down her bowl, a lump forming in her throat as tears pricked at her eyes - of course she shouldn’t have come! After all, she didn’t _belong_ here. Or anywhere, for that matter. She shifted, readying to excuse herself, when Haurchefant picked up his own bowl.

“I say! What a fantastic idea!” She recoiled in surprise and watched him with wide eyes. Unceremoniously, the Elezen lord took a large gulp straight from the bowl just as she had done. Smacking his lips, he then set it down and beamed at her.

“Haurchefant…” Lord Edmont sighed from the head of the table.

“Oh, come now, Father!” he retorted heartily. “I, for one, think we can only be enriched by the customs our guests share with us!” He gladly took another mouthful. “I take it your soup bowls aren’t as flat as ours, then, Alarys?”

“Um, yes- I mean, no,” she stammered, cheeks positively flaring at this point.

“Hah, I see! That makes perfect sense - practical _and_ eliminates the need for cutlery,” he grinned as he gestured towards her own bowl. “Shall we?”

She paused for a moment, dumbstruck. Yet she could not help but mirror his expression - Haurchefant’s positive outlook was nothing if not infectious. Determined and defiant, she picked up the gods damned bowl.

“Let’s,” she giggled. The pair toasted one another and happily continued their meal. 

After a few more unbearably silent seconds, the chatter resumed. At last, the Warrior of Light’s shoulders eased a little. Just beside her, she could practically _feel_ Alphinaud tearing his hair out, but chose to pay him no mind - if anything, the thought rather amused her. The sensation she _couldn’t_ shake off, however, was the very same she had felt before. Alarys peeked from behind her bowl, and surely enough her eyes met with Ser Aymeric’s. This time, she caught glimpse of a slight smile - or so she thought.

**Author's Note:**

> Some background info:  
> \- This is taking place in early Heavensward (pre-Haurchefant's death because damn it I want to write him)  
> \- Alarys is a Keeper of the Moon who grew up in the South Shroud for most of her life, making her fairly oblivious to social customs. So far, her deeds in Eorzea have overwritten any social faux pas she may have made. However, in Ishgard, her social awkwardness is painfully obvious.


End file.
